Let It Happen
by MayhemPoetry
Summary: An old patient barges back into Jennifer Melfi's life and forces her to confront her emotions. Will she give in to him?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own these characters. They are the property of David Chase and HBO. I'm not making any money off of this. This is just for my own amusement.**

For Jennifer Melfi, Tuesday had become the most anti-climactic day of the week. Once, she had had a reason to anticipate Tuesday, even to look forward to it, but that had been some time ago. Now Tuesdays were bleak and the time slot she had kept reserved for the past eight years was spent alone in her office completing dull paperwork. She turned away from the neglected folders that stared accusingly at her from her desktop and looked to the calendar. Noting the date, she remembered why it was that she had felt so out of sorts all day. This particular Tuesday marked two months since she had dismissed her patient.

Anthony Soprano. Jennifer looked around her office and was powerless to stop the deluge of memories. Anthony Soprano cracking jokes, Anthony Soprano breaking down, Anthony Soprano raging, flipping her coffee table and shattering it into a million bits on the floor. Anthony…backing her up into her desk, cradling her face in both his hands, kissing her and almost, _almost_ succeeding in tearing down the wall that she had built to separate herself from him. What had he said that day, before he had kissed her? "This is the place where we've been most honest with each other, and that's the way I always liked it."

Jennifer shook her head. She had not been honest with Anthony Soprano. If she had, she might not have been sitting in her office, unhappy, with nothing but files and paperwork to keep her company. On some level, she felt that it had been unfair of her to withhold her feelings from him. Everything that he had shared with her, every part of him that only she had ever seen, and not once in eight years had she even allowed herself to say those three simple words to him. Yes, that had been terrible of her, but not nearly as terrible as what she had ultimately done to him, the day that she, disturbed and disgusted by the implications of what therapy had done for him and also overcome by her emotions, had acted rashly and unprofessionally, terminating him as a patient.

She sat back in her chair, crossed her legs, and simply remembered, not that day or the day that she had resisted his kiss, but another day from eight years ago, not long after he had come to her office for his first session. It seemed so far away now, that time when he had confessed his romantic feelings for her. She, skeptical, analytical, and more than a bit scared of his words, had quickly and rationally dismissed him. "We understand each other," he had said as he left her office, "You don't love me."

"Oh, but Anthony," Jennifer thought, sighing at the memory, "I did. I still do. If only you knew…"

She refused to think of that now, refused to pine. Jennifer Melfi did not pine for anyone, much less over a criminal like Tony Soprano. She banished all thoughts of him from her mind and returned to her paperwork.

"You're really foolish," she silently chastised herself as she wrote out an evaluation of one of her other patients. Foolish for harboring these feelings to begin with, for ever having allowed herself to forget who he was and what he did long enough to fall for him, foolish for allowing herself to reflect on him now that he was gone from her life.

Jennifer only ceased in her paperwork hours later, when her empty stomach began to call attention to itself. She looked up at the clock to find that it was almost five, almost time to close up and leave. She didn't want to go home. What would she do there? She wasn't an avid television viewer, and her brain was too tired and slow tonight to focus on a book. Her friends were all like her, workaholics who would be too busy to offer themselves as a distraction. Jennifer knew exactly what she would do if she went home now. She would lie around the house and think some more. It had been this way ever since she had closed the door on him two months ago. As hard as she tried not to think of him, Tony Soprano was never far from her thoughts, and once he got into her head, it was damn difficult to force him out.

Hesitantly, she packed her briefcase, then grabbed it and her purse and began to head out. She opened the door to her waiting room and gasped at the figure that greeted her.

"Anthony," she said, a bit too sharply, her voice edged with panic, though she couldn't figure out why. He stood in her doorway looking not at all menacing. In fact, he reminded Jennifer of an awkward pubescent boy in his first suit, avoiding eye contact and shuffling his considerable bulk from one foot to the other. Her patented psychiatrist's skill in reading body language told her that he was nervous as hell. So why was her heart racing and why did her palms begin to sweat at the sight of him?

"Damn; I didn't mean to scare ya," he apologized, "Look, I'm sorry. I...I know you never wanted to see me again and...I shouldn't be here. I'll just…I…fuck!"

With that, he turned and headed for the door.

"Anthony!"

He paused, turned around, and she went to him, placing her hand on his arm.

"Why _are_ you here?" Jennifer asked. He didn't answer. His eyes were riveted on her fingers where they curled around the fabric of his sport coat.

"Never mind why. Fuck it; I'll leave you alone." Her fingers tightened on his arm when he made a move to turn and go.

"No," she said, "Stay."

He looked at her then, and his raised eyebrows told her she had made a mistake. She had made that sound like less of an order and more of a plea.

"I mean…obviously there's a reason you came. It would be pointless for you to have come out here and not gotten to speak to me."

He hesitated, looked around the room and then back at her before he spoke. "I had another panic attack," he said, then swore under his breath. "Outta nowhere. Collapsed right in front of my family the other night at dinner. I tried not to come back and bother you, but it made me feel so outta control..."

Jennifer sighed. As much as she wanted to kick him out and forget about him, she knew that she could do neither. Not again, not this time. There was vulnerability in his voice, pain in his eyes, and there was something inside telling her that if she sent him away now, she would regret it forever. But if she let him stay, how long would it be before she'd come to regret that, too?

"Come into my office," she said, "We'll talk."

She led him into the room where so many of her memories of him had been made. He sat in his customary chair, and as she lowered herself into hers, she realized that he still looked uncomfortable, on edge.

"What seems to be the problem?" asked Jennifer. He shook his head, let out a small, bitter laugh.

"I shouldn't have come," he repeated, "Should've gone to a different doctor. I know this, but you're the only one who can help me."

"What is it, Anthony? Is there something wrong with your family, or something with…work?" She almost tripped over the last word.

"No…" he said, "No, it's personal."

"Well then what?" Jennifer stared at the clock, annoyed with his hedging, "Something with your children? Your wife?"

"No, it's not my wife. It's…you."

"Anthony," she said, truly exasperated now. She rose angrily from her chair, stalked to the door with every intention of asking him to leave now and this time, never to come back.

"I'm sorry," he said. It was not a true apology, and something within Jennifer shook as she detected the rage boiling beneath the surface of his words. "You think I want to be here, practically throwing myself at your fuckin' feet? If I had any choice in this…"

"If _you_ had a choice," she interrupted, sounding more hostile than she intended to.

"Damn it, I fucking miss you. I miss you like hell. I don't just miss coming here or having someone to talk to. It's _you_. I been miserable since you dropped me; all I can think about is you. I can't help it. I can't stop it. I love you."

Jennifer's hands shook. A flush rose up in her face. She didn't ever allow herself this extreme level of agitation in front of her patients. But who the hell was she kidding? Tony Soprano was not just another patient. Their relationship hadn't been truly and strictly professional for years and she knew it, had known it for a long time. She hadn't helped him for eight years simply because it was her job, and she certainly wasn't here with him now because she felt it was her duty. She had continued to see him because he, both as a man and as a symbol of the forbidden, violent aspect of civilized culture, fascinated her, captivated her…attracted her. She had been living vicariously through him for years and loving every minute of it, loving him, as he had sat there in her office describing things that would have sent her scurrying in terror before she had become enthralled with him. Her rejection of him, her dismissal of him, had been results of the battle between her ideas about what was "right" and her feelings for him. As she stood there, staring into his face, processing his words, she could no longer be sure that her morality would win out.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head.

"No?" asked Soprano, "No, what?"

"We can't do this. I _won't_ do this." The emotion in her voice betrayed her, and he was up from his chair, pouncing on her like a predator in two seconds flat.

"Bullshit you won't," he said, looking her hard in the face, searching her eyes, "You feel it, too. You want me as bad as I want you."

"I do not want you. I don't love you."

"That's a goddamn lie!" he yelled so loudly that she was sure people on the other side of the building had heard him. She jumped as his hand slammed violently into the door behind her. Much as his anger frightened her, she felt another emotion rising up within her to war with that fear. Excitement, attraction. The fact that she was turned on by the prospect of him losing his temper scared her even more than his rage.

"You have to go now, Anthony," she said quietly, avoiding his gaze.

"I'm not goin' anywhere!"

Finally, she turned her eyes to him, reading the anger on his face, and the desperation seething beneath it.

"Please just go," she whispered.

"Why do you have to make this so damn difficult for the both of us? This is gonna happen; why can't you just let it?" he asked.

Jennifer realized that he was right. The tempest that was currently raging between them had been brewing for almost a decade, and she had known all along that the storm clouds were massing. This was going to happen and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her tired, conflicted mind spun with this realization, her body sagged against the door, a moment of weakness of which Tony took full advantage. He pressed himself against her, pinned her to the door, leaned in and cupped her cheek in his hand.

"Let me love you, Jennifer," he said.

Her name falling from his mouth was what did it for her, along with the heat of him flooding her. She raised her face up, and in that moment Tony Soprano knew that he had won. Her lips were his prize, and he bent down eagerly to claim them. When he had kissed her the one time before, she had been stiff and cold as marble. This was a real kiss. Her mouth was warm and yielding beneath his, opening like a flower when he traced her bottom lip with his tongue. He eagerly explored her, tasting sweetness as her tongue rose to meet his.

Jennifer felt her body going fluid as the kiss continued on and on into oblivion. She wound her arms around him to support herself, for her knees had melted beneath her. Hazily, like a sensation remembered from a dream, she felt her legs moving. She was being steered backwards, then gently pushed down onto something solid and cushioned. His mouth left hers and she silently mourned the loss. She rested her head on his shoulder, dizzy and panting. He had taken her breath away, literally. Nobody, ever, had done that to her before, not with just a kiss.

She opened her eyes and realized that they were now sitting on her couch, and a quick survey showed her that not only was his sport coat missing, but so was her blazer. She had never been involved with a man who could have her clothes off before she even noticed anything.

She said his name, her voice low, raspy with lust.

"Shh…" His breath was warm on her ear, and then his lips brushed her cheek, skimming down her jaw before coming to rest on her neck. She gasped as he kissed the sensitive skin there, electrifying her entire body, while his hands moved to her back, stroking through the fabric of her shirt while his mouth drove her mad and his body pressed urgently on hers, pushing her down until she felt the couch beneath her and him above.

"No," she curled her fingers in his thinning hair to stop him, and when he looked up at her, he was like someone in a trance, "Not that…not here…"

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because this is my office," she replied, "This is where I see my patients…"

"I want you so bad…" he said.

"I know." She kissed his cheek and then put her hands on his chest, gently pushing him up and off of her. "I want you, too. Just not here."

"Where then? When?" he asked. Jennifer mulled the question over in her mind. She could come up with only one option, although it really wasn't something she had ever thought she'd do. Why not, though, now? She was already in way too deep with this man. Maybe she always had been, right from the very beginning.

"Tonight," she said, "My house. I'll cook for you, if you'd like."

Tony shook his head. "Nah, you're not gonna cook for me. I'll take you to dinner." He named a rather exclusive, expensive restaurant and said he'd make reservations for 8 o'clock.

"Anthony," she protested, "You don't have to…"

"Yes," he interrupted, "I do, and I want to." He took one of her hands in his and kissed the back of it. "We're gonna do this right. I don't want you to have the wrong impression of what I'm trying to do here, with you. I want you to know how much you mean to me."

Jennifer smiled and squeezed his hand. "Eight then," she said, "I'll be there."


	2. Chapter 2

Jennifer sat on her sofa, not straight and with her legs primly crossed as she did in her office with patients, but lounging casually against the sofa's arm with both legs tucked underneath her. She sipped from a glass of red wine and watched as Tony Soprano took in the décor of her living room. His eyes didn't miss a single detail, from the abundance of bookshelves to the modest size of her television set. The colors, mostly shades of gray, might have been boring had it not been for the paintings on the walls and exotic-looking sculptures placed on end tables. The room was like her, cultured, refined, conservative on the surface but with a vibrant quality. In essence, Jennifer Melfi's home embodied everything about her that Tony found alluring and attractive.

For her part, Jennifer observed him carefully while still trying to give the appearance of casualness. Earlier in the evening while she was putting on her makeup and dressing for their date, she had had second thoughts about allowing Soprano into her home. Not only was this, by her professional and personal standards, completely inappropriate, but the man was a Mafioso for god's sake, a criminal and a killer. Amazingly, now, as Jennifer watched Tony stroll over to her fireplace and look at the pictures on the mantle, all of that seemed insignificant.

Jennifer didn't know if she was disturbed or relieved to find that he didn't look at all out of place in her home. It wasn't that he looked like he belonged, exactly. Having him there just seemed…natural, like it was the logical culmination of their eight-year acquaintance.

"That you?" Tony asked, picking up one of the framed photographs and showing it to her. His finger pointed to a little girl in a frilly white dress, sitting on the lap of a handsome young Italian man. Jennifer smiled; that was one of her favorite photos.

"Yes, that's me with my father. I think I was about three or four years old when my mother took that."

Tony picked up another photo, this one featuring a smiling, twenty-something-year-old version of Jennifer, holding a sleeping baby to her bosom.

"I'm guessing this one's your son," he said.

"Yeah," she replied, "That wasn't long after Jason was born."

Tony put the photo back in its place and felt a surge of contrition, an emotion that was almost entirely foreign to him. Being in her house, seeing these photos, made him realize that Jennifer Melfi had a life of her own, one that was separate from who she was professionally and had nothing to do with the woman he had seen every week for almost a decade. He had been so intent on pursuing and obtaining her, so blinded by his want for her, that he hadn't ever really taken that into consideration. She had a family, people she loved, just like he did, and Tony knew that she would be putting all of that on the line in order to be with him. Jesus Christ, he thought, what the hell am I doing?

"Can I offer you something to drink, Anthony?" Jennifer asked, her voice cutting through his reverie.

"What? Oh…no. No, I'm good."

"Well then come and sit with me over here. You're making me nervous just pacing around the room."

When Tony settled down next to her, he kept his distance, sitting close but not touching, which Jennifer noted with a small frown. It had been that way throughout dinner as well, with him generally acting like a schoolboy on a first date. She hadn't expected it; she had thought that he would be all charm, laying it on thick with the obvious intention of rushing her home and getting her into bed as soon as possible. Instead, he had seemed nervous all evening, as if he hadn't exactly known what to say, and he had kept their physical contact to a minimum. Jennifer wondered if, over the course of eight years, he had become so focused on simply attaining her that he didn't know what to do now that he had her.

Or worse, maybe now that she had given in, he no longer thought her worth the effort. Her heart seemed to sink into her stomach as she considered it. She turned away from Tony, unable to look at him, to face the possibility that he might have been leading her on. Her hands shook as she folded them in her lap. She couldn't tell if it was from nervousness or a bitter feeling of disappointment. As she was mulling the possibilities over in her mind, she felt a solid, warm hand on her arm.

"Hey, what's the matter?" asked Tony, taking one of her hands in his, lacing their fingers together, "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

Jennifer turned to him and shook her head. "No. I thought you were."

"I wasn't," Tony said, deciding to be honest with her, "until a few minutes ago. Looking at those pictures…"

"What do my photographs have to do with anything?" she asked.

"It just got me thinkin'. I don't wanna put you in a rough position…"

"You put me in a rough position when you came to my office and tried to seduce me then and there," Jennifer interrupted, unable to conceal the anger in her voice. Tony opened his mouth to speak, but she continued, "Do you think I don't know what I'm getting into? You were my patient for eight years, Anthony. I know you, and I know what I'm doing."

"I just didn't want you to feel like you were being pressured into anything…" Tony said.

"You're here because I want you here," Jennifer replied, scooting closer to him on the sofa so that their bodies touched, "I _want_ to be with you." With that, she leaned over and planted a kiss upon his cheek, then claimed his mouth. At first, Tony was surprised, not used to her taking the initiative. He hadn't expected to be the one to falter in his certainty tonight. He had thought that she would be the conflicted one, that it would be _him_ having to seduce _her_ all over again.

Tony wound both of his arms around her, pulling her towards him until she was straddling his lap, her modest black dress riding up to an obscene length. Jennifer settled into his embrace, nuzzling her face into his shoulder. She didn't know what had happened to her, but she knew that this was exactly where she wanted to be. Somehow, a change had come over her that afternoon in her office; the emotions that she had suppressed for years had blossomed beneath his touch. She had never expected to _need_ Anthony Soprano, but here she was, desperate to be near him. He drew her tighter and buried his face in her fragrant hair, drawing in her scent like it was a life force.

"God, I've been wanting this for eight fucking years," he mumbled into her hair, "I need you, Jen."

She drew back so she could look at him. His dark eyes were sincere. Tony Soprano was gifted in the arts of dishonesty and manipulation; he had to be in his line of work, but Jennifer was the one person in the world who could read him like an open book. She knew that now, at least, he did not lie to her. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Tony's hands were on her back, sliding downwards over her bottom and finally brushing the exposed skin of her thighs. She gasped at the sensation. It had been years since anyone had touched her like that, and now it felt as if he were setting her on fire.

His hands traced the curve of her thighs and then disappeared beneath the hem of her dress. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt his palm against the heat of her panties. He just rested his hand there for a moment, teasing her and feeling the warmth of her as her flesh pulsed with desire beneath the lace. Tony let out an appreciative groan when he pushed the fabric aside and trailed two fingers over her.

"God, you're wet," he said, exploring her until he found the small, sensitive bit of flesh that made her cry out. Jennifer bit down on her lower lip as he traced gentle circles around the area with one finger. She managed to suppress her moans and screams but couldn't control the heavy cadence of her breath or the wanton way that her hips bucked up into his hand. A small, strangled scream did escape her lips when, without warning, he thrust two fingers into her, creating a delicious friction.

"Oh…fuck!" she exclaimed as he pleasured her. She hid her face in his shoulder, pressing her mouth into the fabric of his shirt in order to strangle the horribly undignified, animalistic noises escaping her.

"Uh-uh," Tony said, gently pulling her head up and yet never ceasing in his ministrations, "I've waited too damn long for this. I wanna hear every single goddamn sound you make."

Jennifer's head fell back in pleasure and she moaned with each thrust of his fingers. "Oh god, Anthony," she sighed when she felt the almost-forgotten heat and pressure building in her center, "I think I'm…" She yelped and clung to him when she climaxed, oblivious to everything but the sensation of her orgasm. Her elation was so intense that, for a moment or two, Jennifer was lost in herself.

When she came back to reality, she was enfolded within Tony's arms and he was planting dozens of little, pecking kisses along her hairline, tasting the sweetness of her skin beneath the salty flavor of the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead.

"You are so sexy when you let yourself go," he said.

"And you are amazing," she replied, her voice faint and husky from the intensity of her climax. It had been such a long time for Jennifer since anyone besides herself had brought her to that point. She had all but forgotten how wonderful it felt.

Tony chuckled lightly. "You ain't seen nothin' yet. Where's your bedroom?"


	3. Chapter 3

Jennifer stood up and took Tony's hand. She led him down the hallway to her bedroom. Walking behind her, Tony watched the alluring sway of her hips and bottom, admiring the way the dark material of her dress hugged all of her curves. She gasped in surprise when she felt his palm come to rest on her behind. She turned to him and raised her eyebrows, the look on her face bordering on disapproval.

"What?" asked Tony, "You got a cute butt."

Jennifer rolled her eyes and reached out to open the door in front of her. With Tony close behind, she entered her bedroom. Just inside the doorway, he pulled her to him. Jennifer moaned as she was assaulted by the dual sensations of his erection pressing into her stomach and his mouth on her neck, just at the sensitive junction between her neck and shoulder.

"Oooooh, Anthony," she said, voice heavy, lusty.

"You like that, huh?" he asked, biting her and then darting his tongue out to soothe the mark he left.

"God, yes," whispered Jennifer.

"Good," said Tony, "You only have to tell me what you like, ya know."

"I like you," she replied, running her palms up and down the strong, thick arms around her waist, smiling as she felt him break out in gooseflesh at her touch. He bent his head down to seize her lips, and she eagerly kissed him back, pouring almost a decade's worth of sexual frustration into it. While he kissed her, Tony traced his hands over her hips and then up her back, reaching the zipper of Jennifer's dress and pulling it downwards. The dress fell off of her, and Jennifer shivered as the cool air hit her skin.

The chill was replaced by warmth as Tony stroked her now-bare back. Jennifer reached for his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it free. She tugged on his shirt, pulling it from his pants and then working at the buttons, one by one until the garment had joined her dress on the floor. He watched her as she undressed him, smiling as she unbuttoned his pants. When they both stood in their underwear, she looked up at him, her eyes darkened by lust. He drew his hands upward from the middle of her back and manipulated the clasp of her bra, easily unsnapping it.

Jennifer suddenly became shy when she was divested of that one garment. She let go of Tony and brought her arms up around her chest, shielding herself from his view.

"No ya don't," Tony said, grabbing both her wrists, "None of that. I want to see you."

Jennifer bit her lower lip as his eyes roved up and down her mostly-naked body. It had been years since she had been intimate with anyone, and her last lover had been her ex-husband, a man who had known her body for years. She wasn't young anymore, not taut and perky as she had once been, and she feared that she might not live up to Tony's expectations. Her anxiety was dispelled when he sighed deeply in appreciation.

"You," he said, bringing his face close to hers, "are perfect." They kissed wildly, falling together onto the bed. His hands were on her breasts, kneading the flesh in his palms and making her shiver with every caress. He moved downward, trailing his tongue over her neck and collarbone, then the valley of her cleavage. She groaned in protest when he avoided her breasts, but soon forgot her complaints as he continued lower, kissing and licking at her abdomen, dipping his tongue into her navel and then returning to her mouth for another heated kiss.

Jennifer ran her palms down his sides, reaching his waist and working feverishly at the elastic of his boxers, and he helped by kicking them away. When he slid her panties down her slender legs, he pulled her to him, looming over her and positioning himself between her thighs. Tony covered her body with his, reveling in the feel of her, the softness of her skin, her breath hot against his cheek. He looked into her eyes, his face betraying worry, as though he thought that maybe she had come this far only to change her mind at the very last minute.

"I want you," she said, "Make love to me."

As he entered her, he placed a kiss first on her forehead, then each of her cheeks and finally her mouth, smothering her cry as she felt the pressure of a man inside of her for the first time in years. She was so tight and her body such an inferno that Tony felt he could spill then and there. His strokes in and out of her followed a slow and languid rhythm. Jennifer Melfi, for him, had always represented softness, gentleness. Those were the things that he wanted to be for her. He wanted to love her rather than just fucking her as he had done with his women in the past. Most of all, he wanted to draw the experience out, make it last for as long as possible.

"Anthony." Jennifer's voice in his ear was low and breathy. "I'm not made of glass. You can't break me." She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, silently commanding him to go harder, faster, deeper into her.

He obeyed, spurred on by the way she moaned and writhed beneath him, the way she sunk her fingernails into his back. Each of his thrusts stoked the fire that was blazing in her center until she felt herself overwhelmed by the heat. She said his name as she climaxed, repeating it mindlessly over and over again like a chant. Driven to the edge by the tightening of her inner muscles around him and the faint pain as she dug her nails into his flesh, Tony soon found himself hurled over the same precipice, and they came together, clinging to each other.

"Jesus Christ," Jennifer breathed when she regained clarity, turning over so that she was facing him, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

"Yeah," Tony said, "Yeah, my sentiments exactly. God, Jen, you were...you were fuckin' beautiful."

"Beautiful?" she asked, smiling and moving closer, allowing him to drape an arm around her shoulders.

"You know you're gorgeous; I shouldn't have to tell you." Tony nuzzled his face into her neck, and the stubble on his chin tickled Jennifer's skin. She giggled, still giddy from her orgasm and from the rush she got from being with him. After all of the years she had spent fantasizing about what it would be like to sleep with Tony Soprano, not only had she never imagined that it would actually happen, but she also could never have guessed at how damn _good_ it would be.

He kissed her neck, then worked his way upwards, gently kissing her jaw and then her cheek before she rose up to meet his lips, welcoming once again the heat of his tongue in her mouth and the weight of his body on top of her.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony woke up alone and naked in an unfamiliar bed. The unmistakable scent of sex mingled in the air with a woman's perfume. When Tony rolled over, he could feel an indention in the mattress next to him although the sheets were cold, as if whomever had been there was long gone. Slowly, the haziness of sleep cleared from Soprano's mind and he remembered the events that had led him to where he was now. Jennifer Melfi looking like a dream in a black dress, Jennifer in his lap, her mouth on his, Jennifer beneath him, moaning and bucking wildly in pleasure. Jennifer…passion and perfection.

He knew that he was in her house, in her bed, but was puzzled that she was nowhere to be found. Today would be Wednesday, he reasoned, and he knew that Jennifer went to work early, so maybe she had woken up to get ready and hadn't wanted to disturb him? But no; Tony noted that it was still dark outside, and whenever he glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, he saw that it was only five thirty in the morning. Surely she didn't wake up _that_ early. But where the hell was she?

Tony slid out of bed and turned on a lamp. In the weak light, he searched the floor for some clothes, finding his shirt on top of Jennifer's discarded dress and his boxers at the very end of the bed, where he had kicked them off in his haste to feel Jennifer, to be inside of her. He quickly stepped into his underpants and shrugged the shirt on, neglecting to button it.

He left the room and walked down the hallway. There was a light at the end of the hall, and he went towards it, hoping to find Jennifer. He stepped into the living room, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light. She was on the sofa, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, a tumbler of vodka in one hand. Her royal purple robe covered her top half but left her long, shapely legs on display. Tony felt a fresh stirring of arousal.

"What's the matter," he asked, "couldn't sleep?"

Jennifer jumped at his voice, almost spilling her drink. She had been practically dead to the world, her lack of sleep and the depth of her thoughts having sent her into a trance-like state. She said nothing, simply stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. Tony stepped closer, and as he did, he noted that she smelled like alcohol.

"You really think it's smart, getting plastered a couple hours before you have to be at work?" Tony inquired.

"I'm not drunk," Jennifer replied, "Anyway, I'm thinking of cancelling my appointments for today. I don't feel particularly capable of helping myself just now, much less anyone else."

Tony frowned in confusion, both at her words and her tone. Her voice had lost all of the softness and intimacy of just a few hours ago. Now she sounded as formal and clinical as she did in her office, except beneath all of that, there lingered a trace of bitterness as well. Tony wondered what in the hell he had done to offend her.

"Hey, Jen, you feeling all right?" he asked.

"I'll be fine. And, unfortunately, now that you're awake, I think it would be good if you went home."

"What? You kicking me out?"

"Of course not. I'm simply pointing out that it would be best if you left. As you said yourself, I'm due at the office in a few hours, and I'm sure that you need to get home to your wife."

Tony felt his temper flaring and was unable to check it. He strode angrily over to the sofa, putting his arms on either side of her and leaning in close, effectively trapping her where she sat. He expected fear from her, hoped to scare her out of whatever had come over her, but instead she looked into his eyes unperturbed.

"Are you going to hit me? Go ahead; at this point, I don't particularly care what you do to me."

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he asked, voice low, threatening like storm clouds, "I take you out to a wonderful dinner, I tell you I love you and then get you off more times than you can even count, and now you're gonna talk to me like we're back in your office, the same way you talk to all your goddamn patients, like what we did means absolutely nothing to you? What the fuck is your problem? You're just gonna kick me out of your life? It's that easy for you to give me the boot?"

Tears pricked the corners of Jennifer's eyes, spilling down her cheeks and flowing unchecked.

"It's not easy," she said, "What we did tonight meant everything to me. Making love to you was surreal, and beautiful, but it never should have happened, and it never can again."

"What are you talking about?" asked Tony. Despite himself, he felt his rage begin to dissipate at the sight of her tears. He knew that she was rejecting him, but didn't understand why. It hurt, and he wanted to be mad at her for it. He wanted to yell and threaten and maybe even break something, but he couldn't stand to see her crying. He moved to sit down next to her, sliding an arm around her shoulders and drawing her into him. She tried to pull away, but he held on and eventually she stopped fighting, going limp and letting her body sag against his.

"There's nowhere for us to go from here," she explained, even as she reached out to touch his face, her fingers lightly, lovingly brushing his cheek, "We never should have been anything more than doctor and patient. That clinical relationship worked for us, even if the therapy was just a cover-up for how we both felt. We ruined all that in a moment of passion, and now that it's gone, there's nothing left for us."

"What the hell kind of bullshit is this? I know you love me, Jennifer!"

"Yes, Anthony, I do. I think, whether I allowed myself to acknowledge it or not, I've always loved you, even when you scared and repulsed me."

"Then what's the problem?" he asked.

"Where should I start? We can't have a relationship. What do you think would become of my career if it was discovered that I was sleeping with one of my former patients? Not only would I lose all credibility, but I could also lose my practice and my license. And you, your line of work, have you forgotten what happened when your…your…associates…found out that you were seeing a psychiatrist? What would happen to me, to you, if they learned that you were now romantically involved with that same shrink?"

"You think I would let anyone hurt you? I'll keep you safe; you don't have to worry about that…"

"And then there are your wife and your children," she continued, swiping a hand over both her eyes and taking another sip of vodka, "You have a family, and I do too..."

"My kids are grown, and so is your son…"

"But you're married to Carmela, and you're never going to leave her. I can't agree to the kind of arrangement you're used to, Anthony. I won't be just another one of your…what do you call them…goomars."

"Jesus, do you really think that's how I see you? That's not what you are to me. Jen, when I said I wanted you, I didn't just mean for tonight. I didn't just mean for sex. I meant that I want to be with you, indefinitely, for however long you want me."

Jennifer said nothing; she simply regarded him through eyes wet with tears.

"Look," Tony said, "I'll be honest; I don't know what's gonna happen now; I don't know how this is gonna work. All I know is that I want you in my life, and if anyone doesn't like you being there, then they can kiss my ass. If anyone threatens you or this thing we have between us, I will take care of them by whatever means necessary. I want you, I want to make this work, and we will, as long as you want it, too."

Jennifer was torn between her rationality, which told her that everything about this situation was wrong, and the desire that made her want to cling to him and never let go. Her emotions won out, and she threw her arms around his neck, sobbing. She buried her face in his bare chest, taking in the scent of him, noting that he smelled vaguely like her perfume. She had marked him, albeit in a temporary way, and he was hers, if only for the moment.

Tony held her while she cried, patting her back and stroking her hair, all while whispering soft, comforting little bits of nothing. His gentleness made the decision for her. Until now, even she who had thought that she knew Anthony Soprano inside and out had not thought him to be capable of such tenderness.

Jennifer realized, as she sat there, held safely and tightly in his arms, that he would always surprise her. She understood that what she felt for him eclipsed her fear about allowing herself to become part of his world, the fear that had kept her from him for so long. She knew that their future was something neither she nor Tony could predict, but if they never tried to make it work, then they would never know if it could.

She had sent him away twice in the past, and both times she had ended up taking him back, first as a patient and now as her lover. She couldn't lose him again. The only certainty for Jennifer Melfi was that, right or wrong, she would always want and need Tony Soprano. With that knowledge in her heart, she raised her face to his and kissed him.

"I love you," she whispered against his lips, "Please stay."

"Don't worry," he replied, "I'm not going anywhere."

She settled against him, taking comfort in the warmth of his body. Neither of them said a word; they simply sat and listened to each other breathing. Together, they watched as the first beams of sunlight began to struggle through the curtains, welcoming the new day and everything that lay ahead for them.

**Author's Note:**** Hey there folks. Unfortunately, this is the last chapter. I hope you liked reading this little story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I may or may not write another in the not-too-distant future, sort of like a sequal/companion to this (except what I have in mind would be racier; I toned the sex in this one down because I didn't want it to just be smut). If this sounds like something that would interest you, then don't be shy about leaving me a review and letting me know.**


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